


just guys being dudes

by catbeans



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbeans/pseuds/catbeans
Summary: Dandelion rolled over and mushed his face against Geralt’s bedroll, still left there to keep from waking him up. By the time Dandelion thought anything of it, the extra space, Geralt’s heels were digging into the dirt a little with a sharp exhale that made Dandelion open his eyes.It was just a peek. It could have been just a peek. Dandelion’s hair mostly covered his eyes, he was still tired, but there was no mistaking what he could see of Geralt’s arm moving, the light shudder and no other reason for his breathing to be unsteady. It could have been just a peek.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	just guys being dudes

A few coals still glowed from the small fire Geralt had made to cook a grouse and a squirrel that Dandelion hadn’t taken him up on. The air was warm and almost sticky even with the sun long gone, only Dandelion bothering with only a thin blanket.

Geralt wondered if a thicker one would have been any better. He didn’t think so.

His eyes had been closed when he had heard the first rustle of fabric, near enough to sleep that it took him a second: he almost thought it was the beginning of a dream and a surprisingly nice one before his eyes opened and he found the faint smell to be just as clear.

Geralt meant to close them and force himself to sleep. The fabric rustled again. He kept looking straight ahead.

Geralt swallowed at the sound of Dandelion spitting into his palm, a couple seconds of silence before another rustle, Dandelion’s waistband; he wondered if the pause had been Dandelion looking to see if he was asleep and didn’t have much time to think about it before a sharp exhale behind him, the rustling getting steadier. Geralt squeezed his thighs together and kept looking at the trees.

Dandelion glanced over a second time, his hips twitching into his hand before he stilled himself with a slow, deep breath and held his hand around himself a little tighter. It had been a while since Geralt had moved, but he had been jolted awake enough times by Geralt rushing upright or to his sword to know that he might not stay so lucky. He didn’t need Geralt telling him to go take it farther into the woods; it was  _ dark. _ He only needed a minute.

He only needed a minute, but he needed to focus for that, biting his lips with the memory of a baron’s daughter’s kisses here and moving his hand a little faster with the memory of a cook’s  _ very _ nice chest there; a knight errant with an ass he could hardly bring himself to let go of, plenty of scars to give him an excuse to kiss, and a lovely mouth; he thought some more about that mouth, and some more, and surely not someone else’s when he had to catch a rag over the head of his dick and bite the inside of his cheek as his hips rocked into his hand again.

He had to mind to breathe out quietly and without too much of a huff before he stuffed the rag away to take care of in the morning.

He glanced again—Geralt still hadn’t moved—and his eyebrows furrowed a little as he turned onto his side and closed his eyes with finally some success.

Dandelion wasn’t so sure anymore that he had been thinking about the knight’s mouth. The knight had had an endearingly chipped eyetooth and the mouth he had been thinking of didn’t.

One of the last remaining embers popped.

Geralt waited until he only heard the occasional snore behind him before shifting slightly to move his hand between his legs, and the warm, heady smell had only just fully faded into the damp from the trees when he bit back a soft  _ mm _ and settled a little more comfortably against his bedroll.

Dandelion half expected Geralt to say something the next morning; Geralt figured that he couldn’t have expected much different. It was Dandelion, after all. He didn’t say anything.

Geralt turned to busy himself with Roach’s saddlebags while Dandelion rolled up his bedroll and blanket and the rag that Geralt still pretended not to notice, easy to forget about behind finding something to eat and Dandelion arguing that they should just get moving so they could get a meal they hadn’t caught themselves. 

They did, and they were barely able to finish it before Geralt prickled with the feeling of eyes focused on him, not long before two men crossed the tavern with a heavy pouch in one of their hands.

“You’re a witcher,” the first said pointedly but not very helpfully.

“Right now I’m just hungry.”

The other reached across almost hesitantly to leave the pouch on the table; Geralt’s eyebrow twitched; payment in advance was getting harder to come by. He took another bite.

“What’s the trouble?”

Geralt’s sword never left his back. It wasn’t a demon like he had dubiously and vaguely been told, just a half-elf whose pipe had lit part of a wheat field on fire while he was asleep, a little conversation—the death Geralt had been told of had been a bear, he explained, and nothing to do with him—and a little bartering; Geralt left short part of his commission, but with enough time to wander to a shady spot under a hunched, gnarled pear tree at the edge of the fields. He ate a couple and pocketed a couple more before deciding that he had taken long enough for the job to have been believably done.

He didn’t have to look for Dandelion, familiar chords leading him to the inn where a loose crowd hung around and tossed a few coins into a borrowed mug, blushes from a few women Dandelion smiled at. Dandelion didn’t seem to see past them before Geralt turned for the stable, patting himself down for one of his cleaner knives for another pear.

“How’s the fare here?”

The first couple slices disappeared from his palm almost immediately.

“You don’t say.”

He had brushed Roach and started on the second pear when he looked up at footsteps that stopped with a hand held out towards him.

“Any of that for me?”

Geralt cut Dandelion a slice and another for Roach a little more quickly when she snuffed impatiently at him.

“You’re looking awfully put together to be back so soon.”

“I didn’t really have to do anything,” Geralt shrugged. “We won’t have enough for a second bed, though.”

Dandelion raised an eyebrow and held his hand out again for another piece. “What happened to—?”

“We made a deal.”

Dandelion snorted.

They could spend a little more on dinner without a second bed and with the money Dandelion had collected, stacked plates and mugs that left Dandelion’s cheeks a little pink and his smiles a little wider at the barmaid. Geralt cleared his throat and stood to go to their room.

Dandelion leaned his chin on his hand and looked at the barmaid again. “Some deal of yours…Do you think you could—?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Mm.”

Geralt undressed with his boots under the bed, his swords with the rest of his things by the foot of it. Outside of the small window was only lit by other candles in other windows, voices bubbling up from below it, a little quieter through the floor by then. Geralt wiped his face with a damp cloth and a huff and decided to get as much as he could out of the lumpy bed.

The lights outside of the window had been put out when his eyes opened at the creak and click of the door opening and closing again. He knew the weight of the footsteps following it, and didn’t bother keeping his eyes open through the  _ thud _ of shoes being dropped to the side or the stumbling while Dandelion undressed without a candle to help.

“Ow, shit…”

Again; undressed again; Geralt had been less awake when he had smelled it the night before, without another mingled in, but the first was still clear and heavy.

“Budge over, I know you didn’t sleep through that,” Dandelion mumbled, tugging at the blanket while Geralt shifted. “Taking the whole bed…”

Geralt shuffled closer to the wall and let Dandelion pull more of the blanket over himself. He didn’t mean to breathe in quite so deeply before he smushed his face into the thin pillow.

At Geralt’s back, Dandelion’s eyes snapped open to the ceiling, before looking to the side to Geralt without moving his head; Geralt hadn’t slept through that, but he hadn’t moved, either, and he hadn’t moved the night before. 

Surely he would have said something, though. 

It had rained during the night, but they had set tarps, their bedrolls pushed together to keep out of the way of the wet breeze. The air hung thickly with fog, condensation on the buckles of his clothes, when Geralt rubbed his eyes and looked up at a drop that had collected above him just before it plunked down onto his cheek.

If there were any on the other half of the tarp, Dandelion hadn’t been bothered by them. 

The light was still low and dim, fuzzy through the fog, only a couple birds already chiming as Geralt got up and cracked his neck. He wondered if Dandelion had finished the food he had brought along when Dandelion had elbowed him a little on his way up sometime in the middle of the night.

Most of it was still left; Dandelion didn’t move while Geralt ate a little, fed their horses, changed into clothes that had been tucked deeply enough in a bag to still feel dry. Dandelion rolled onto his front and part of Geralt’s bedroll with a mumble, but nothing further than that, when Geralt tossed a tattered spare blanket over a soggy log and enough of the ground to sit down on.

He liked having company, but he liked those mornings, too, only minding how Dandelion tended to sleep longer when they had somewhere to be. Early mornings were a necessity that had turned into habit, but waking up slowly when he had the chance was its own little luxury when the air was so sweetly clear and there was nothing to watch his back from.

Geralt glanced over his shoulder at Dandelion still sleeping before looking back out towards the trees, pulling his legs a little closer to himself and loosely leaning his arms on his knees. A fox barked somewhere far to his left. He scratched at a loose thread at his inseam and glanced over again and thought for a second.

Dandelion didn’t seem to be going anywhere; he wasn’t in any hurry; Geralt shrugged to himself and unfastened the front of his pants.

Geralt shivered as he settled back against the log, only a little thought on listening for any movement behind him when he started rubbing his fingers between his legs. It had been a while, either too close to Dandelion or too tired to bother, and his clit was quick to harden with his heart beating incrementally faster as he kept moving his hand.

He didn’t have to think much, just letting his hips shift against his fingers and the warm, tingly feeling spreading up from his pelvis. He didn’t pay any mind to the sound of the blanket shifting.

He would have, if he had noticed that it wasn’t his blanket, if his attention hadn’t lapsed for a second as he started rubbing his fingers more firmly.

Dandelion rolled over and mushed his face against Geralt’s bedroll, still left there to keep from waking him up. By the time Dandelion thought anything of it, the extra space, Geralt’s heels were digging into the dirt a little with a sharp exhale that made Dandelion open his eyes.

It was just a peek. It could have been just a peek. Dandelion’s hair mostly covered his eyes, he was still tired, but there was no mistaking what he could see of Geralt’s arm moving, the light shudder and no other reason for his breathing to be unsteady. It could have been just a peek.

His vision was a little less sleep-blurry once Geralt’s shoulders lifted on a deep breath and then  _ tensed, _ his head tilting back slightly, not letting it out, until another sharp huff a few seconds later. Geralt’s shoulders sagged, and he didn’t straighten right away, eventually pushing himself up with his other hand on the log before he started fastening his pants. Dandelion shut his eyes and quickly ducked his face against the bedroll.

Geralt looked over at Dandelion, his eyebrows scrunching as he leaned down for the spare blanket; Dandelion had been laying on his side before, not his front. Geralt paused for a few seconds before folding up the blanket and tossing it with the rest of their things with enough of a thump to startle.

“Mm. Mhm. I’m awake.”

It sounded a little more truthful than most of the other times that Dandelion had insisted he was almost up. The back of Geralt’s neck prickled not entirely unpleasantly as Dandelion moved over so he could pack up his bedroll, waiting for Dandelion to get up and take his own before starting on the tarp.

The trees and the sky grew clearer as the sun started to melt through the fog while Dandelion blearily packed his things and retuned his lute. Geralt didn’t have to go far to find a rabbit for their breakfast—he could still hear the strings—but it was far enough to wonder about Dandelion, if he had  _ been _ awake, and far enough that Dandelion could look towards where Geralt had left without Geralt noticing.

He wouldn’t have minded seeing more than Geralt’s back and the movement in his shoulder; he was sure, then, that it hadn’t been that knight’s mouth he was thinking of earlier that week. The tip of Dandelion’s tongue poked between his teeth a little at the thought of what Geralt’s face might look like while he came before he shook his head and looked away again to tighten another string.

The rain that night smothered any more thought about it from either of them. The next took them to a town with a commission less lucky than only some bartering and Dandelion having to find somewhere else to spend time with a barmaid; there wasn’t even an inn for there to be a barmaid or a second bed to not be able to afford.

There was a barn attic with a moth-eaten cot, a meal still cooking but promised to both of them, a commission scraped together from the handful of houses that Geralt hadn’t seemed like he was going to take until he caught a look at a boy who hadn’t yet reached a growth spurt with a heavily bandaged, mangled arm. His shoulders sagged a little before he asked who had tended it, details of the shape of the gouges and their depth. The boy had only gotten away with the ghoul busy with his father.

“It must be desperate,” Geralt said as he cleaned his silver sword, shining so brightly that Dandelion couldn’t really see the need to, but Geralt had his habits. “I didn’t believe them first, they don’t have enough of a graveyard for more than one.”

Dandelion nodded around a spoonful of the stew that had finished a little earlier.

“They don’t usually break off from each other like that,” he continued, “or I’d expect it to find somewhere with more older bodies, it’s the older marrow that…”

Dandelion’s nose wrinkled with his spoon again halfway to his mouth; Geralt looked up. “Pleasant dinner conversation.”

Geralt glanced down at Dandelion’s bowl and his nose wrinkled a little, too.

He didn’t say any more about ghouls’ eating habits while Dandelion finished his bowl and he finished preparing, while he ate and Dandelion took out his lute. Dandelion hummed and his mouth moved slightly but Geralt didn’t make out any words. It sounded new.

The sun set, and Geralt took a little glass bottle with him.

It wasn’t much of a graveyard at all; there were only a couple, and only with carved wooden stakes to mark them, clear that their plots had been hastily covered again after being torn up. There was a third without any disturbed dirt at all without a body recovered to lie under it.

The boy had been so recently injured that Geralt couldn’t imagine that the ghoul would have finished with his father’s body yet, even if it had ended up alone and without its usual preferences. There was no moon shining to make him hold off on popping the cork of the bottle he had taken.

Geralt’s throat tightened as his breathing picked up and rasped slightly, a stinging itch under his skin, down through his veins, and the lines of the wood marking the graves became clear in the dark. The thick smell of a corpse became clearer, too.

He followed it.

“I don’t know that one,” Dandelion said. “I think you’re making it up.”

The boy balled up his little fist against his hip with a searing glare and his other arm still tied in the bandages. “I am not—”

_ “We _ can make it up. I’m sure it’ll be better anyway and then you can say you’ve helped such a famous poet compose a—”

“You’re not famous.”

“I am.”

“I’ve never heard of you.”

“That’s hardly my fault, is it? What princess did you say it was about?”

The boy shifted from one foot to the other, chewing his lip for a few seconds before, “She was locked in a tower, and there was a dragon.”

“A tower and a dragon, that’s a start—What sort of dragon?”

“Golden,” the boy said after thinking for a moment.

Dandelion cleared his throat to cover a snort and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “A gold dragon, alright…”

Geralt swerved out of the way of blunt claws lunging towards him. His ankle hit a low stone wall circling the graves, would have tripped without catching himself in the momentum of his sword swinging into the ghoul’s side. The force of it allowed him to push off a couple steps away and steady himself again. The ghoul howled.

It was too close. It lunged. Geralt threw his left hand forward in the Sign of Aard, but the ghoul colliding with the blast of energy pushed back against him, too; not enough to shake his grip on the hilt.

The ghoul righted itself. Geralt held with both hands and hurled his weight with the silver blade leading to the ghoul’s neck, and it lost its chance to lunge again.

Geralt stood over it, unmoving, his breathing still slow and his veins still singing, right to the pit of his stomach. It didn’t move, either. Geralt shifted, and hacked, and hacked; with his proof of the job being completed stuffed into a sack, he thought that he ought to let someone know where the other remains were. He thought about the wooden marker with the undisturbed dirt.

Dandelion looked up at a gasped shriek from outside the barn, and wondered if Geralt had forgotten the sack he had suggested or if he still just looked like a corpse.

He climbed down the short ladder from the loft—as he had decided it was, because that wasn’t an attic, it was hardly a room—and out to see the sack being handed to a man standing ahead of a sobbing woman, consoled and taken to one of the houses by another. Geralt’s eyes were scrunched almost shut against even just the candles in the windows and his face was still the dead-white of soured milk.

It would have looked like such a grimace if Dandelion didn’t know what to look for.

There were only a couple more words exchanged before the other man left, his arm stretched to hold the sack as far away from himself as he could reach, and before Geralt came towards the barn.

Dandelion went ahead of him to the loft, sliding the grate mostly shut on the small lamp they had been given just as Geralt’s steps started up the ladder. Dandelion sat at the end of the cot and watched the slightly hunched shadow avoiding the streak of light from the lamp: Geralt’s movements were smooth but almost mechanically as he took his sword from his back, worn leather jerkin, everything back in their cases before, “Did something happen?”

Dandelion saw Geralt’s head turn but couldn’t make out his eyes.

“No, there, turn around,” Dandelion gestured. “At your other side.”

Geralt shifted, and Dandelion’s eyes had adjusted enough to be mostly certain that he saw a wince.

He had; Geralt’s skin prickled with the leftover effects of the elixir wearing off, everything around him so  _ sharp _ but everything inside still dulled enough that it had fallen to the back of his mind, behind the haloed glare of the dim light and the skittering of something in the hay below them. Dull throbs of pain started to creep closer to the front. Geralt had to think for a second.

“I don’t think it punctured—”

Dandelion audibly cringed. “I think it did.”

Geralt shifted his torso again and let out a short breath. Nothing  _ pushed, _ his ribs all in one piece and the right place. “It’s not that bad.”

“Let me see.”

It wasn’t that bad. He could take care of it himself. He was tired.

Geralt sat on the other end of the cot with his back to Dandelion and the crack of light from the lamp.

He heard the soft huff with Dandelion’s nose wrinkling as he leaned in, something clinking—

_ “Dandelion.” _

“Sorry, sorry,” Dandelion mumbled, quickly holding the lamp behind him again. “I can’t see like this.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Would you stop? We only have one of these to share and I’m not waking up bloody.” Something rustled. “Here.”

Geralt frowned and tied one of Dandelion’s shirts over his eyes. There was a faint creak, and the impression smothered through the fabric of more light, but not enough to sting before the ropes holding the thin mattress squeaked as Dandelion leaned in again.

“Not that bad,” Dandelion snorted quietly. “I don’t want to know what you think  _ that bad _ is. Where’s the kit?”

He was already getting up when he asked; Geralt pointed.

“I need your shirt off, I don’t think I can clean that and hold it up at the same time.”

Geralt’s protests went unheard; he got his shirt to his armpits before it tugged deep in his skin when he tried to lift his left arm, eventually wriggling out of it with Dandelion’s insistent help. He had to hold his arm in his lap and out of the way of his ribs as Dandelion scooted closer and leaned in towards his side.

“Have you considered,” Dandelion asked as he started scrubbing at the dried blood that had oozed below the punctures, scabs cracked open when Geralt had first started undressing, “that you might not have so many of these scars if you dealt with them earlier?”

Geralt had to stop himself from shrugging. “Professional hazard.”

“Come on—”

“I don’t have endless medical supplies.”

A pause. “Fair enough.”

The shirt around his eyes smelled like Dandelion.

Geralt directed him to the small jar of coagulant, squeaking open before Dandelion’s fingertips gently, gingerly traced over the short wounds. Dandelion’s heart was beating a little faster against his skin with a tangy-anxious twinge in Geralt’s nose past the faded smell on the fabric; that was just Dandelion, none of the scents he sometimes liked to put on, sleep sweat but not enough to need a wash yet. Too fresh to have the smell Geralt remembered without really meaning to, a couple nights before, even if Dandelion’s nerves were more familiar. The rot from the small graveyard didn’t linger in his sinuses anymore.

“Then there’s—”

“The one that smells like dirt?”

“Mhm.”

“I got that already.”

Dandelion’s fingertips were a feather with the thick cream over the punctures, his breathing slow and shallow but close enough that Geralt could feel it against his arm until Dandelion leaned back for the bandages.

“You’re going to need more of this,” Dandelion said, moving back to sit behind Geralt. His hair brushed Geralt’s neck and his cheek as Dandelion reached around him to wrap the bandage, only a couple times before he ran out of fabric and had to tie in the end. 

“That’s what I was saying.”

“As long as you don’t bleed on me,” Dandelion said as he got up to put the jars away. “I need a drink.”

“Did you not already—?”

“There’s a—there are  _ many _ reasons I had no interest in learning medicine and the practical side makes up most of them. You don’t need the lamp, do you?”

“No.”

“Oh, thank all the…”

Geralt untied Dandelion’s shirt from his head as his footsteps receded outside of the barn. When the light came bobbing back, Geralt had taken off his boots and his pants with a frown at the muddy streak up the left thigh, replaced with a cleaner pair, the supplies that Dandelion had taken out organized back where they were meant to be. He had gotten it almost right.

“Hold this,” asked a hand held up with a flask over the edge of the loft, and Geralt took it until Dandelion had gotten up the ladder. “Thanks.”

Dandelion’s eyebrows scrunched after he reached the top and brushed something from his pants.

“Did you move everything?”

“A few things.”

“How?”

“What?”

“Your skin looks, you know, like your skin again,” Dandelion said, putting down the lamp and gesturing for him to move over to make more room on the cot. “It wore off.”

“Yes?”

“You can’t see like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Geralt said, and before Dandelion could interrupt, “I can see better in the dark with it, not only.”

Dandelion’s eyes narrowed above the lip of the flask as he took a drink.

“There’s a reason our pupils—”

“Prove it.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed a little, too, before eventually, “Cover the lamp.” 

Dandelion’s ankles bounced as he leaned down to slide the grate shut again. Geralt thought for a second, taking a fork from Dandelion’s empty bowl and touching his arm before Dandelion could act on the deep breath he had taken to speak. He only had to wait for another couple seconds before flinging the fork down from the loft.

“What was that?”

“A rat.”

_ “No.” _

Geralt leaned down to open the grate, and Dandelion’s hand went to his hip with a short huff.

“I see. Alright—”

Almost on cue, the wick popped and the light flickered, and there was nothing left to see anymore.

Dandelion huffed again, but he stayed put, his fingers tapping at his hip for a couple seconds before he turned his head; Geralt wondered what Dandelion could make out of his face.

“I’m not sold yet.”

“Then I don’t know what’s going to do it for you.” 

Dandelion did, and he didn’t have to say so, his grin in the dark clear enough.

What sold it for Dandelion was handing Geralt a pouch of smoked nuts that he had admittedly forgotten about from their last stop, pushing the cot into a corner so Geralt could lean against the wall while Dandelion sat at the far end with his mouth open.

“You’re going to choke on it.”

“You’ll have to prove that you can see well enough to aim first.”

“And then you’re going to choke on it,” Geralt muttered, aiming for Dandelion’s nose when he opened his mouth again so he would know it was coming. 

“Oh! Oh, I forgot how good those are. Do it again.”

“I’m tired, Dandelion.”

“One more.”

“Hold your hand out. Higher, closer to your cheek.”

The next bounced from Dandelion’s hand to his mouth, and the third from his forehead, before Geralt pulled the pouch strings shut and lightly tossed that instead.

“Ow—”

“I’m not throwing any more food at you,” Geralt said, gingerly moving to lie on his uninjured side whether or not Dandelion moved from the end of the cot, his left arm awkwardly bent to keep from touching the bandages. Dandelion didn’t move yet, Geralt’s ankle over his criss-crossed legs until Geralt nudged with his heel. “Come on.”

Dandelion’s hand rested at his calf a second longer than it needed to to move Geralt’s leg, lying down with his back to Geralt and Geralt’s back to the wall. There was no reason for his eyes to still be open with nothing for him to see.

Geralt hadn’t missed once. He hadn’t said anything the night that Dandelion had come in late after a tumble, and still hadn’t said anything about the night before that, either. 

There wasn’t any more adjusting that his eyes could do before Dandelion turned over, but it didn’t matter, didn’t think anything of it, felt Geralt’s breath slow at his chin. 

“Geralt.”

It didn’t change; it didn’t need to; Geralt had already smelled it in his hair.

“I saw you that morning.” 

That changed it, just a little hitch. He was so close that Dandelion could almost feel Geralt’s bare skin against the backs of his fingers.

“Did you think  _ you _ were subtle?”

Dandelion huffed at once offended and a little needy, his hand flat at Geralt’s belly. “Excuse me—?”

His hand  _ warm _ at Geralt’s belly, all heady and sweet again and covering whatever else Geralt might have had to say with, “I smelled it on you.”

Dandelion made a tight little sound that ended muffled in Geralt’s mouth. His lips were so sweet and still faintly tingly from the flask that Geralt didn’t think to stop himself, letting out a hiss at the twinge when he started to reach too quickly with his left arm.

“Stop that,” Dandelion said softly, low as he caught Geralt’s hand. “Let me just.” His thumb traced over Geralt’s knuckles before he let go for Geralt’s hip, grabby. “I want to make you come.”

Geralt felt Dandelion grin and knew Dandelion had felt him shiver. 

It was barely a kiss, almost a kiss, their noses still touching and their lips just a little until Dandelion’s thigh pressed gently between Geralt’s. His fingertips tracing firmly down the middle seam of Geralt’s pants made Geralt’s hips twitch, letting out a sharp exhale that didn’t break away in time to miss Dandelion grinning again.

“What were you thinking about?”

Geralt huffed, and didn’t have time to care how close it sounded to a whine when Dandelion shifted his thigh.

“That morning.” 

“I don’t,” Geralt said, “I don’t know, what does it—”

Dandelion’s other hand—mostly squished between them—shifted up to Dandelion’s thumb brushing over Geralt’s bottom lip, almost to his teeth. 

“I was thinking about your mouth,” he said, grabbing at Geralt’s ass again. “What your lips would feel like.” Dandelion let out a soft, low little sound when Geralt pursed his lips around Dandelion’s thumb. “Something like that…”

Geralt’s bottom lip was already damp when Dandelion moved to kiss him again.

Dandelion’s hands and his mouth were slow and so easy to settle into, warmth stirring in the pit of Geralt’s belly with a muffled little sound when Dandelion tugged at Geralt’s waistband to get him to rock against his thigh; when Dandelion shifted but only for his fingers to slip below Geralt’s waistband. He hadn’t shifted far enough to keep Geralt from feeling Dandelion hard against his hip.

Geralt still didn’t get to reach for him before Dandelion took his arm with his free hand.

“Don’t bleed on me,” he mumbled against Geralt’s mouth. “I told you—”

“I’m not going to bleed on you,” Geralt said, a little short of breath but staying put when Dandelion let go of his arm; Dandelion didn’t protest Geralt loosely grabbing at the front of his undershirt. “Won’t even let me try.”

“Because that’s  _ disgusting—” _

Dandelion cut off with a soft mumble when Geralt tilted his head to kiss him.

“I’m not going to bleed on you,” Geralt said again, Dandelion’s lips still touching his. Dandelion’s fingers had slowed but with still enough pressure for Geralt to rub up against them. “You’ve seen worse.”

“That never meant I wanted to.”

“And you’ve seen how much faster—”

“How much faster you heal?” Dandelion interrupted with a slow drag of his fingertips that made Geralt’s hips jerk, his teeth catching Geralt’s lip as he said it. “Are you trying to pull that with me again? Mutant this, inhuman that, alright…”

“I’m just telling you the—”

Dandelion flattened all four fingers in almost a grab. “I won’t allow it.”

Geralt turned his face against the thin mattress to stifle a groan a little too late.

Dandelion started rubbing at him again a little faster, more intently, his nose bumping Geralt’s cheek before Geralt turned his head for Dandelion to kiss him again. 

“Can you,” Dandelion started but trailed off with a kiss at the corner of Geralt’s mouth, “can you lie on your back?”

Dandelion shifted to the edge of the cot to give more room, his hand at Geralt’s waist ready to stop him when he winced and help him down a little more easily when he insisted he was fine. Dandelion’s fingers brushed so lightly over Geralt’s side that someone else might not have been able to feel them touching the bandages to check for any new blood.

“That’s better,” Dandelion murmured, more like he was saying it to himself as he sat up on his knees by Geralt’s waist; with his right arm free, Geralt didn’t have to mind reaching up Dandelion’s thigh to the front of his pants, but not before his hips twitched up against Dandelion’s hand slipping past his waistband again. “Yeah, that’s much better…”

Dandelion made a soft, low sound as he let Geralt palm at him but only for a minute before taking Geralt’s wrist in this free hand. He didn’t say anything yet, still rubbing between Geralt’s legs and with his other thumb over Geralt’s wrist while he just looked even though Geralt knew he couldn’t see; Geralt could see enough for Dandelion’s shoulders lifting on a deep breath and the way he bit his lip for a second.

He might have asked what for, if he hadn’t been stopped by Dandelion circling his fingers before dragging over the length of his clit again and, “I want to feel you come on my mouth.”

Geralt’s breath caught with a started little sound that he would have tried to stifle behind his hand if Dandelion hadn’t still been holding his wrist. He would have nodded, too, if Dandelion could see him as well as he could see Dandelion lifting his hand to lightly kiss across Geralt’s knuckles, but he had to, “Please.”

Dandelion hummed  _ low _ into a kiss at Geralt’s wrist, his forearm, ducking down to kiss above the bandages next. Geralt’s hand fell to Dandelion’s hair and he idly wondered how Dandelion kept it so soft before he huffed when Dandelion pulled his hand back.

It stayed running lightly above Geralt’s waistband as Dandelion straightened up, slipping down to unfasten it the rest of the way before, “I need your hips—”

“I can—”

“Wait, wait, stop…”

It took more help from Dandelion than Geralt would have liked to keep from pulling at his side, and more than he would have needed if he had just gotten up. It was the hazy weight of a long day, but less that than Dandelion’s hand at his waist and spotting his back when he lifted his hips, the kiss to his right side before Dandelion tugged his pants low enough for Geralt to kick his ankles free.

Dandelion almost slipped at the end of the cot as he settled between Geralt’s legs, caught by Geralt’s hand at his collar and then a kiss to Geralt’s forearm as thanks. Geralt didn’t let go while Dandelion wound his arm around Geralt’s thigh, another kiss, until Dandelion kissed higher  _ almost _ and he moved his hand to Dandelion’s hair again.

Dandelion would have liked to see it. He felt the muscles shift under his hand at Geralt’s thigh with Geralt’s hips trying to tilt closer, a scar he wasn’t sure he remembered, and warm, not as much as it would have been usually with a usual heartbeat but—

_ “Oh—” _

Dandelion’s hips shifted against the end of the cot as Geralt’s twitched up against his mouth. Dandelion held a little tighter around Geralt’s thigh with a soft, needy sound muffled around Geralt’s clit, hard on his tongue, Geralt’s fingers not pulling but just curling through his hair and holding him there. He would have liked to see the shiver he felt all the way down at Geralt’s thigh.

Another time, Dandelion thought, sucking at him a little more intently, maybe; another time he could look up and see Geralt’s head tip back against the thin mattress, what Geralt looked like when he couldn’t move his left arm quickly enough to muffle such a light groan that Dandelion wouldn’t have placed it as Geralt’s voice if he hadn’t known better.

Dandelion didn’t stop mouthing at him as he wriggled his free hand between himself and the mattress. Another time he could get to know what Geralt’s mouth really felt like, too, but he had seen the weight to Geralt’s shoulders before the lamp had run out, and he had felt it, and he had meant what he said. He wanted to feel Geralt come.

The prickling that had been running over Geralt’s skin with the elixir wearing off softened and settled under Dandelion’s hand kneading at his thigh, his lips and a muffled moan thrumming comfortably over Geralt’s clit. His hair was so soft. Geralt saw the movement in Dandelion’s right shoulder and shivered, Dandelion’s breathing a little heavier against his skin as he jerked himself off, kept sucking and dragging his tongue. 

For all he could run his mouth sometimes, Geralt started to think, but it didn’t get any further than a stifled little sound and his hips rocking against Dandelion’s lips. Dandelion held tighter at Geralt’s thigh starting to tremble, pumping his wrist a little faster as Geralt’s fingers tensed in his hair, so close—

Geralt’s ankle knocked his side. The trembling under Dandelion’s hand froze for a second, a second, before Geralt let out a deep huff with just a little bit of a moan behind it and  _ drooped. _ His fingers were loose in Dandelion’s hair, only Dandelion’s arm around his thigh keeping him from slumping flat, his breathing a little heavy but slow. Dandelion didn’t take his mouth off of him until Geralt tugged at his hair.

The back of his neck prickled with the feeling of being watched; Geralt’s thumb brushed a curl back from near his eye and the same feeling prickled down to the pit of his stomach, too. He moved his hand faster to meet it, Geralt’s hand cupping the side of his face before Dandelion ducked against Geralt’s thigh with a breathless little groan as he came over his fingers.

Dandelion didn’t move for a minute. Geralt’s thigh was too soft at his cheek to bother, and even then it was just to turn his head for another kiss, squinting up at the vague shape of him before unwinding his arm from Geralt’s thigh. He was sure he heard Geralt snort when he wiped his hand on the end of the cot before tucking himself back into his pants but hadn’t really been paying attention past Geralt’s fingers carding through his hair.

Geralt gingerly pushed himself onto his side again as Dandelion came back up, and there was some mumbling, nudging Geralt to keep from tugging at the bandages and warning what Dandelion would do if he woke up bloody, but not much else. Geralt’s arm was slung loosely over Dandelion’s waist, less cramped than between them, Dandelion’s hair in his face a little but not enough to mind with no more of the painful itch under his skin.

It wasn’t long before Dandelion did get to know what Geralt’s mouth felt like.

He could have slept longer, but a rooster outside had other ideas, and there was no pillow to shove over his head or more than a few inches that he could move without being stopped by Geralt’s arm. He would have been stopped soon enough by the size of the cot anyway. His eyes were still heavy and hazy but the corners of his mouth twitched up with a little huff at Geralt’s fingers loosely curling in the front of his undershirt.

Geralt didn’t hear anybody outside near the barn. Something with a bell on its neck jangled past the opposite wall, another chicken clucked, no one to interrupt his nose bumping the back of Dandelion’s head.

Geralt felt a light shiver when he lowered his hand from Dandelion’s belly, pressing back a little with a low, sleepy hum at Geralt’s fingers brushing over the front of his pants. They were almost tentative passing the ties still left undone, curling around Dandelion’s dick, moving his hand a little faster at Dandelion rolling his hips.

Dandelion’s elbow gently nudging his belly pushed Geralt back slightly for Dandelion to turn over. His hair was a little bunched on that side and his breath was a little stale, his eyes only half open but clear as his fingers skated over Geralt’s ribs above the bandage. A couple seconds went by before Dandelion looked up at him with his eyes almost crossing in the short few inches between them.

“Without taking me for some kind of fool,” he said sleep-roughly and quietly, “how is it now?”

“It’s better.”

“Better.”

Geralt shifted his shoulder and his side, more than he needed to to see for himself but enough to make the point to Dandelion that nothing was going to open and bleed again. He shrugged. “Better.”

“Mm.” Dandelion’s hand moved down his side a little more firmly then to palm at his ass.  _ “Mm.” _

There wasn’t any more room to follow the tug at Geralt’s hip, his eyebrows wrinkling together as he reached for Dandelion’s dick again before his hand was swatted back.

“What are you—?”

“I need you to sit up.”

_ “Why—” _

“Let me see that,” Dandelion said, again, and something twisted a little in Geralt’s chest at the thought back to when Dandelion had said it the first time, in the dark with his skin stinging under Dandelion’s fingers.

Dim blue, dusty light crept through a couple cracks in the ceiling as Dandelion pulled Geralt to come to his lap, nudging him again to sit upright before carefully reaching around to where he had tied the bandage. He didn’t see any reason to get up to do it, even less with how Geralt’s hips shifted against him as Geralt raised his arms slightly until Dandelion tossed the bandages aside; they were stained but only in one place as promised, the scabbing already hard-set but still enough to make Dandelion’s nose wrinkle as he testingly brushed over them with the backs of his fingers.

“True enough,” Dandelion murmured, his hands dropping to Geralt’s thighs to slide up to his hips. “You’ve got a bruise.”

The skin under Dandelion’s right thumb was a little more tender than under the other. Geralt thought back again to Dandelion’s thumb slipping between his lips the night before.

Dandelion’s eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitched up with a satisfied little hum as Geralt scooted backwards, tugging his waistband down his hips for Geralt to take the rest of the way before pushing himself up a little to lean back against the wall. It left more room than Dandelion had had as Geralt lay on his belly between Dandelion’s legs, leaning more heavily on his unscathed right side as he smoothed his other hand up along Dandelion’s inner thigh. 

It was just as easy to settle into as Dandelion’s hands were the night before, fine hairs bristling a little under Geralt’s palm, warm on either side of him; Dandelion’s hips wriggled slightly when Geralt’s hand stopped with his thumb dragging up the line where his thigh met his pelvis; warmer still when Geralt steadied his hand around Dandelion’s dick and dipped down.

Dandelion hadn’t had enough focus yet that night to imagine how Geralt twisted his wrist as he bobbed his head, slow to come back up, or his hand lowering to cup Dandelion’s balls in his palm as he bobbed down again. A soft sound thrummed through the pit of his belly when he moved his hand to Geralt’s hair, and another with a light tug, Geralt’s eyes closed as he started sucking a little more intently at the tip.

Dandelion couldn’t help his hips shifting when Geralt pulled back for a second to catch a deeper breath, remembering what Geralt had said the night before; Geralt slid his hand over Dandelion’s dick a couple more times with the side of his face against Dandelion’s thigh before taking Dandelion into his mouth again.

Dandelion hadn’t been lying, Geralt’s insisted otherness quick to get old, but the thought of Geralt having smelled it on him was weird and twisted oddly in his stomach. He didn’t dislike it. 

He had missed Geralt moving his free hand between his legs, his attention pulled away by Geralt mouthing over the length of his dick before ducking down again and by trying to keep his hips still, but he couldn’t help a little twitch once he saw it. The light through the cracks in the ceiling was clearer over the slope of Geralt’s back, his ass, the faint movement at his shoulder and the shiver when Dandelion gave his hair another soft tug.

Geralt didn’t pull back farther than the tip of Dandelion’s dick still pursed between his lips to look up at him.

“Make yourself come for me.”

Geralt’s mouth opened just slightly slightly wider, his eyes, too, letting Dandelion guide him a little lower again.

“Let me see it.”

Geralt let out a muffled little sound as he started moving his hand again. Dandelion hadn’t really noticed his eyelashes before.

Dandelion didn’t say anything or tug again when Geralt’s mouth started to feel slack, his breathing picking up as he kept moving his hand; he still mouthed almost absently along Dandelion’s dick, muffling another groan around the tip when he tensed with a little shiver, faster, “That’s right…”

Dandelion’s dick slipped from between Geralt’s lips when he came. His face pressed against Dandelion’s thigh again, his hair bunching between Dandelion’s fingers, but Dandelion still saw that shiver that he had missed the night before, Geralt’s eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open slightly before he silenced another groan in a soft bite to Dandelion’s thigh.

It made him jump but Dandelion still didn’t pull. It was a few heavy breaths before Geralt turned his face from Dandelion’s thigh, his cheek still squished a little against it, pupils a little narrower with the light. He moved his hand from between his legs, about to lean up for Dandelion’s dick again when he abruptly stopped and looked towards the door to the barn.

Dandelion looked; he didn’t hear what Geralt must have, what must have passed a couple seconds later when Geralt made a low little affirmative sound and caught Dandelion’s dick in his mouth again.

Nothing else passed or took Geralt’s attention from bobbing his head and twisting his wrist where his lips didn’t reach. His middle and forefinger were tacky and his top lip was damp when Dandelion brushed over with his thumb, closed eyes opening again, warm in the pit of Dandelion’s stomach.

“Geralt.”

_ Warm _ warm, and tight, and close. If he hadn’t been already the recognition in Geralt’s eyes with his mouth still full would have done it.

Geralt was slow to pull back but didn’t falter with his hand, his cheeks a little less dull when Dandelion bit back a breathy groan and came over Geralt’s fingers and the side of his nose. Geralt’s eyebrows twitched up, and Dandelion froze, uncertain but only for a second before Geralt reached for his face with his clean hand.

“Wait,” Dandelion said a little breathlessly, reaching first, “stop.”

Geralt watched him as Dandelion wiped the little smear from his nose with his thumb, the backs of his fingers brushing past Geralt’s hair on his way to wipe his hand on the side of the cot, and Geralt snorted again like he had the night before.

“You’re a considerate guest if there ever was one.”

“Considerate might have been a real bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> this hole you (lockdown depression/writers block) put me in wasnt deep enough and im climbi
> 
> @przyjaciele on tumbly


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